Lockbox: redux.

I really hope nobody keys my car tonight. My landlord called me this morning and told me to park in a spot that has been, via convention, eliminated from my apartment complex's parking lot. As far as I can tell, everyone can still park, but it's not obvious that somebody isn't going to break my windows in a fit of "who does this new guy think he is"? After that, it took me a hell of a long time to get in touch with the dude who was supposed to get the lockbox off my front door. I don't like the idea of some miscellaneous person who just happens to have the combo being able to waltz in and steal my Police Box Set. Or any other box set for that matter.

In other news, that was one flippin' cold shower this morning. Dash it all. Good thing I didn't have any shampoo or I would have been tempted to put my head under that freezing cold water, potentially causing long term brain damage. Problem is, I stupidly bought shampoo today. Wait for tomorrow's post to see if I've gone completely off the rails.

Why is it that merely walking into either Target or Wal-Mart teleports you to some distant time-free zone, such that the reading on your watch is almost always twenty minutes after you expected to leave the store? Is it metaphysics, or just incompetent store design? Or perhaps a bit of both? Or perhaps a bit of that, plus annoying customers in front of you in line that are asking for a price check on every single item when all you want to do is pay for your dish soap, shampoo, and trash bags? Is this an unsolved mystery? Should we get Robert Stack on the line? I think we should.